


The Little Secret

by the67impalaonbakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reader Insert, Reader is a few months from guaduating, Reader is training to be an assassin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the67impalaonbakerstreet/pseuds/the67impalaonbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm terrible at summaries. You're Mary's younger sister, who's training to be an assassin. After being attacked by a teacher you're relocated to Baker Street. How will England survive you and Sherlock being in the same building?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a one-shot for a friend, but turned into a multi chapter story. I hope you comment and leave kudos if you like it.

You were three at time, the time when your world changed the first time.   
You watched as Mother played with her magic white rocks, waiting for her to hit you again. It was always worse when A, your older sister, wasn't around. (A was almost 20 years older than you, Mother had her young, and Mother had you when she was older.) Mother said it was 'the life' that drove her to do it. “‘To forget it'” she would always say. You didn't know what she meant, but it always meant pain for you.   
You made sure to stay out her way, like A told you to do, when Mother got like this, breaking furniture, sobbing, blaming your father for everything. You were sitting in the corner (facing the wall), of the small living room, when she threw Dad's gardening vase at you. Glass shattered above you, and fell like rain. The largest shard fell across your back and scarred it. The paralyzing fear caused by the action masked the pain.   
Mother walked towards you, her footsteps matching the beat of your heart. “Y/n” she purred as she stopped a foot in behind you, “come here.”   
Knowing better, you dashed under her arm. Now aware of the pain across your back, you grabbed the phone and stumbled down the hall to your room. You slammed the door and locked it behind you. A said never to call her when she was on a job, but this was an emergency. You dialed her number and waited, all the while Mother was pounding the door, the sound of her cursing and banging filling your little ears. Red filled your vision from the pain of your bleeding back.   
It took forever, with each ring the locked door became more splintered as Mother tried to reach you.   
“A!” you sobbed into the phone after the sixth ring. “Mother was playing with her rocks and is trying to hit me again. This time she threw Dad's vase.”   
“She has really gone off the deep end now, if threw that.” A mumbled to herself. “Y/n” your older sister screamed through the phone “stay in your room with the door locked. I'm almost home. Give me one hour!”   
“Hurry!” you whimpered in response, the pain now all consuming,   
After you hung up, the banging stopped and Mother stomped back down the hall to the living room. 'Most likely to play with her rocks and wait for me to come out.' you thought before blacking out into an uneasy sleep.   
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
You woke up when you heard a gunshot. Instantly awake and too scared to move you lied still, listening for movement like A had taught you to. When you didn't hear anything, you rose slowly then went to check things out. Your back had dulled to a throb, blood caking the back of your shirt. Peeking into the living room, you saw something that haunted your dreams.   
A stood over Mother, dressed in all black, with a gun pointed directly over her heart.   
She had tears in her eyes as she looked upon Mother's body. You had never seen A look so sad before, not even when Dad had died. Carefully padding over to her, you gently tugged on her vest.   
“Y/n” A breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing you unhurt other than your back. Then taking you in her arms, she cried in the crook of your neck. You sat still, peering at Mother’s body.   
“Y/n” A hiccupped through her sobs, “the people in our family are killers. We kill bad people for other bad people. It’s what Mother did, and what Dad did. It was 'the life' she was always talking about.” Your older sister pulled away and looked into your eyes with a melancholy smile on her face. “In fact, that's how she met him. They were supposed to kill the same person, but Dad had gotten there first.”   
“But I thought they met over gardening? That is what Dad said.” you replied confused.   
“No, sweetheart. That’s called a cover story. Everyone in this line of work has one.” A hiccupped again.   
“Okay, but is that why Mother played with rocks? To forget all the people, she killed?” You asked, already having figured it out.   
“Yes, that's why. Mother also blamed Dad for dying on the job, and leaving her with you. I was already doing my own jobs. So, that's why I was never really around these last few months.” A said, trying to compose herself. She didn't want you to see her like this, teary eyed and leaning on her baby sister for support. A then set you down on the floor facing away from Mother's body.   
“Was Mother always like this?” you asked, wanting to know.   
Blinking back tears, A said “No, she got like this when I was five. Before that Mother was nice and an amazing mom. When a friend found the rocks and told Mother about them, she started playing with them. Only Dad could control her when she did. He was always there for me, and always protected me.”   
She took a shaky breath and continued, trying to be strong. “Now I'll always be there for you, Y/n. No matter what. I may not always be physically with you, but when you need I'll only be a phone call away.” You nodded and gave her a hug at those reassuring words, tears pricking your eyes.   
“Okay now Y/n, you have to be a big girl. None of the bad people I work for, or that Mother or Dad worked for know about you. We're going to keep it that way. We will both keep our names, but when people ask, you are an only child. Understand so far?” A whispered in your ear whiling rubbing your back.   
“Yes A,” you replied.   
“Okay. We're also going to move far away, how does England sound? It's not America, but will it do?”   
“Do you mean the place with a queen and princes and princesses, you told me about? England sounds like a fairy-tale. I want to go!” you said jumping up and down all the while forgetting about Mother and the horrible life you were about to leave.   
Smiling your older sister said, “Good, we have one night to pack everything we can, my friend Mycroft already said he would help us.” Then the two of you packed all what you dared, and spent one last night in the house you had never called home.   
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

That was fourteen years ago. Since then A had given up ‘the life’, changed her name (you kept yours), had gotten married, and gave birth. You on the other hand attended an all private school for girls A’s friend enrolled you in as soon as you entered the U.K. Recently, you had started training to be an assassin, not that you would’ve told A. She never wanted ‘the life’ for you.   
Only Mycroft knew. He said something like 'England needs you sooner than I had originally thought.' one afternoon after a scary thing with phone-booths and abandoned buildings.   
'Well anything to have a change of pace from everyday life at the academy ' you figured. Going to an all-girls school was incurably boring. Also, being the smallest in your grade wasn’t fun either. You were always underestimated by everyone, even his majesty; a.k.a Mycroft; at first.   
Any who, you only talked to A now by letters, sadly. Her new name was Mary Watson. You were happy for her though you had not gone to the wedding, or meet your brother in-law, and probably wouldn’t meet your niece/nephew till they were about five. From what you could tell, A was safe and happy. So you didn't tell her about going into 'the life'. It would only take her away from all of that.   
Sadly, you would have to tell her sooner than you thought.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love a sassy Mycroft?

You waited for the bell to ring, signaling lunch. 'Just one more...', your thought was cut off by the high-pitched sound.   
“Finally,” your best-friend groaned, getting up from her desk beside yours. “One more minute in here would kill me.”   
You mumbled an agreement, while gathering my things and putting them in your bag. “Yeah, that quiz was killer. But more importantly, food!!!” you whisper-screamed, pushing her towards the door.   
“Y/n, all the food won’t be gone by the time we get there, plus I haven't finished packing my things.” H/n sighed, as she slowly packed up her supplies one by one. “I swear you do that just to irk me.” you grumbled, leaning against your desk. “Yes, I do. Now food!!!” H/n said with a smile, pushing you towards the door this time.   
“Miss L/n, please wait.” Mr. Jones, your very cute maths teacher called after the two of you. His voice made you blush.   
“Go on H/n, I'll meet you later.” you told her over your shoulder. Well more like looking up over your shoulder, being the smallest girl in your grade.   
“Okay, but don't blame me for not saving you a spot in line. It's sweet bread day today.” She said giving you a wink. It meant 'He's your crush, you'll be picked on later'. Your best friend was the only one you had told about your crush on the new maths teacher. He started only a few months ago. She then went around you, and raced out the door.   
“Yes, Mr. Jones, what is it? Is it about my quiz? I only have one problem left,” you questioned, trying to keep the embarrassment and annoyance out your voice. No matter how cute he was, the school was severing you favorite today and he was keeping you from being one of the first in line.   
“You have a sister right, about twenty years older than you?” Mr. Jones asked cooly. His eyes spell-bounded you for a minute, they were your favorite blue-green color. But then you processed what he had asked. Fear coursed through you, 'No one knows that' you thought.   
“No-” you tried to say, but he cut you off.   
Mr. Jones strolled toward you with an easy stride, “Well I don't need to ask as I already know. My friend told me after tracking me down. You see Y/n; I'm going to kill you. Like your sister killed my wife. Slowly and painfully. I-”   
He didn't get to say more because you knocked him out cold. That was what you had learned in training from his majesty so far, other than running like hell. Shaking your hand, you had to fight the urge to kiss him. Honestly you had a problem when it came to liking older men. It was only natural going to an all girl’s school for most of your life though.   
'That should slow him down until the lunch period is over. But, how did he find out?' you panicked as you ran out of the room.   
Sprinting down the hall and a flight of stairs, you pulled out your phone and called Mycroft. He picked after the third ring. “What Y/n, this isn't a good time” he asked, clearly annoyed.   
“Screw it Mycroft, my maths teacher knows about A- I mean Mary. He said he that she killed his wife, and then he threatened me. I need a ride out of here.” During his pause you rounded the last corner to the dorms, and then started running up the stairs two at a time. “There will be a helicopter there in 15 minutes, be ready.” was all he said before hanging up.   
*** Tiny time skip brought to you by Lestrade’s badge****   
'How fast can I pack?' you mused, yanking the door your small dorm room. Looking around the room, nothing seemed out of place. From the bed under the window, to the closet and dresser on the opposite wall. A bug couldn’t have been planted anywhere else.   
You hurriedly grabbed the duffle from beside the closet and packed with inhuman speed. Grabbing the clothes from the bottom drawer, you pulled your h/c hair into a pony tail to keep it out of your face. Five pairs of jeans, ten shirts, eight pairs of socks, a few odds and ends that counted as pjs, and four sets of matching underwear, they were all the cloths you had that were not the schools uniform. Lastly you packed your tablet, laptop, and all three of your chargers into the side pocket.   
After double checking all that was in the bag, you looked around the room for anything you may have forgotten. ‘Oh, can't forget this’, you thought picking up a picture of you, Dad, and A smiling in front of the old house in America. ‘I looked so happy, what happened?’. Shoving it into the duffle, you slammed your door shut.   
You ran back down the corridor, jumped over the stair railing (somehow not breaking anything, thank God), and then awkwardly climbed out an open first story window. 'Damn it all, I need air' was all you could think running to meet the helicopter that had landed on the hill in front of the school.   
Just fifteen more feet till safety, that was it. But dumb luck and Murphy's Law always loved you. You tripped over a rock that wasn't there until that moment. You heard a metal slide open.   
“Cheers, Y/n. Now do get up before your teacher shoots you.” Mycroft gloated from inside the helicopter. Why he was here you didn't know, this seemed way below his pay grade. You figured a minion of his would’ve picked you up.   
“Whatever, your majesty. Just get me some sweet bread. I'm having to miss out.” you sassed at him while getting up and running the last couple feet into the chopper.   
A gun shoot sounded in the distance. The bullet grazed over your head, missing you by mere inches. “Sh*t, I punched him just like you taught me! Why is he not out cold?” you cried pulling yourself in by the metal handlebars, with no help from him.   
“I told you to stop calling me that. It's annoying, I swear you're almost as bad a Sherlock” he sighed and rolled his eyes. “And to answer your question I don't know, maybe because you never learned how to do it right.” he snapped quietly at you. How he could change demeanor so fast almost gave you whiplash.   
To the pilot, he calmly said “Are you an idiot, or just a simpleton? Get us out of here before he kills us all.” Then you were lifted into the air as the pilot took off. You had to finish hauling yourself in while your feet were dangling outside the helicopter. You slumped down in the seat across from his majesty, glaring at him.   
“Some help would’ve been nice, you know.” you slurred.   
Mycroft scoffed at you, “But what fun would that have been?”   
Tired, you just rolled your eyes. Collapsing was the last thing you wanted to do, especially in front of him. But after the adrenaline faded, that's what you did against the leather seats. The sound of Mycroft tapping his umbrella became a lullaby slowly putting you to sleep. 'Seriously, it's like that thing is his child, he has it with him so much' was the last clear thought you had.   
“Sleep well” Mycroft said with a rare show of affection as you shut your eyes


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft has a club house. :3

You woke to the helicopter landing on the top of a building. What building, you weren't sure, but it was sunset. It only took fifteen minutes from the time you called his majesty to reach the school, so where were you? It seemed like hours, no it was hours, since you fell asleep. Mycroft, noticing that you were now awake, said “Finally. I was just about to wake you. We're here.”   
“But where is here?” you asked, groggily.   
“My clubhouse,” his majesty, you decided you would forever call him, said with a hint of dry amusement.“Now, don't talk until I say, do you understand?"   
“Yes, sir.” sarcasm dripping from your voice. At that, he gave you an eye roll, and then helped you out of the chopper. Who knew? Maybe there was hope for this pain.   
The two walked for what seemed to be forever. You had lost track of how many twists and turns the building had going through the oak paneled corridors. Everywhere you looked you saw old men reading. Most strange of all was the security here. The guards wore little blue booties over their real shoes.   
Then you entered a large room that seemed to double as an office and a library. There was one large ebony desk in the center of the room. Shelves filled with all kinds of book lined all four walls. Scatter about were a few large high back chairs with small tables beside them. Like the ones you saw the old men reading in.   
“Now we can speak.” he uttered after an eternity. Finally, you could talk. It had been while and your feet were hurting. Plopping down in one of the high back chairs, you faced his majesty not waiting for an opening to talk. “So, if this is your clubhouse, than is this room the inside playground, Mycroft?” you teased.   
A smile, the first one you ever saw on his face, tugged at his lips. “I guess you could call it that. Now, Y/n down to business. We have to discuss living arrangements, finishing your education, and the continuance of your training. Also-”.   
Cutting him off you shouted, angry at the whole situation, “Why can't I go back? Maybe I liked it there, well not liked it; but I have friends there I'll miss. And if I can't go back, why can't I live with... Mary?” Saying that name still felt unfamiliar on your tongue. You insistently felt guilty about shouting, but it was unfair. Why did you have to uproot your life?   
“Why? Because it's not safe. Someone knows who you are. Someone is trying to kill you! Do you want to put her in danger? Your niece or nephew in danger?” Mycroft trembled with his quiet words of anger.   
“No, of course not-” you flinched when he angrily cut you off. ‘His majesty must really be upset’ you thought.   
“Then, Y/n, you have to steel up and be quiet.”   
On the verge of tears you could not come with a witty comeback.   
Taking this as his queue, he continued. “You will get to see Mary more often now. So if that is the once good thing to come out of this, then so be it. As for were you will be staying, as you well know I have a younger brother. He is almost as predictably unpredictable as you are. His best-friend happens to be your brother in law.” Letting you take that in Mycroft paused, to catch his breath most likely.   
‘I’ll get to see A...Mary (old habits die hard it seems) more often' was the point you were stuck on. After a few minutes you said, “Your brother’s best-friend is my brother in law? Your majesty, you plan these things?” attempting to lighten the tense mood some.   
“Actually no I do not. You very well know I was friends with Mary before she was Mary, and when my brother was on his ‘vacation’ John and Mary meet. I did not interfere, because with all the sadness in their lives, I thought they deserved some happiness.” his majesty explained.   
You were slightly taken aback. You never expected Mycroft to be so kind. “So the king has a heart.” you said when you found your voice again. And at the look his face you laughed. “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone," you voice died down to a whisper, "but when can I see her? When can I see my sister?”   
“Well, I called her while you were still asleep. So any second now really.” his majesty stated.   
“Y/n” a familiar voice gasped behind you.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will seeing your older sister go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating sooner. School is taking over.

Turning around in the high back chair, you saw her. Your older sister in person for the first time in a few years. Her hair was now short instead of long; she had a green sweater hanging off her body like it didn't seem to fit right anymore after the pregnancy, her pants were being held up by a belt; and she was carrying a little bundle of yellow cloth in her arms. The bundle squirmed as if it knew you were focusing on it. The motion broke the trance that held you. You jumped out of your chair to hug A/Mary. Well now she was Mary, because A could never look so domestic.   
Making sure to avoid the squirming thing, you hugged her with both arms while she hugged with all the might she could muster with one. Sobbing into her neck you said, “It's been so long! And look, I am an aunt. What's the little angel's name?” you now cooed to the pink sausage wrapped in yellow.   
“Her name is Amelia Sherlock Watson.” Mary sobbed happily.   
“That's so cute, but Sherlock?” you questioned, while untangling yourself from her.   
“Oh, that was John's idea. Sherlock, his best-friend, said it was a girl’s name a while back, so...” she trailed off, composing herself. 'Honestly why dose Sherlock's name keep coming up' you thought.   
“Ladies, now that we have had a tear felt reunion, let us get down to business.” Mycroft mono-toned. Both of you, now giggling at his tone of voice, walked toward the chair you had sat in. You let Mary have that one, and dragged one over for yourself.   
“Can I hold her?” you asked, giving her the puppy dog eyes once you were seated.   
“Yes, but make sure you support your head.” Mary fussed handing you your niece. It was at that very moment, when she grabbed your pinkie finger with her fist that you decided to spoil her rotten.   
Having read your mind, Mary said “Oh not you too, Sherlock made the same face when Amelia grabbed his finger. Don't you go spoiling her, too.” 'Why am I always being compared to this man?' you thought while ignoring everything she had just said about spoiling your niece.   
“As I said, can we please discuss Y/n's arrangements, now or should I break out the tissues?” his majesty sighed.   
“Well look, the king has sass.” you replied to him, earning you that laugh from Mary that you had missed.   
“Yes, we can.” Mary answered his majesty.   
“Good, now for where she will be living. I still think that her living at 221 B Baker St. would be best. As for training and education, I can arrange for a private governess and I will personally continue her training.” his majesty droned on.   
“Wait, what training, Mycroft? Please tell me you didn't get her started on 'the life.'” Mary said, with an underlying threatening tone.   
“Well seeing as how it was Y/n's decision, I say you don't have any say in the matter.” Mycroft coolly replied. At that you sank further into the overly plush chair, clutching Amelia to your chest as to keep her from hearing the conversation. Mary, noticing the movement, gave you her old famous death stare that could force any one to tell the truth. It sure saved time if it came to torturing someone for information.   
“You see, I was going to tell you, but you were so happy Mary. I couldn't take that from you. If anyone deserves it, you do.” you squeaked.   
Amelia, whom you had dubbed 'Little A' in your head cooed at your voice. “His majesty said that I was needed by the crown, and I was tired of being the small weak girl at the back of the class. So I took up 'the life' for myself. To prove it wrong.” you poured out the secret that was locked away inside your heart. At that you gave Mary Little A back.   
Accepting back her child, Mary said, “That still doesn't give you the right to go into 'the life'. You can't be a trained assassin. That life is what drove me into hiding, Mother to do drugs, and is what killed Dad. I can't see what it will do to you. Y/n it is a mistake, this choice. Please back out now while you still can.” Now Mary had tears in her eyes again. One of her worst fears had been realized. Her baby sister had taken up 'the life'.   
You, not being able to face her anymore because you turned a way to keep from seeing the tears welling up in yours, saw that the sun had gone completely down. “Mary I have to do this. If I don't, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. Please could you ever forgive me for going behind your back?” you stifled back a sob.   
“Of course, I can forgive you. But you'll have to babysit a lot.” Mary hiccupped. Silently, she thought ‘But how could I ever forgive myself for letting this happen? If only I could have been there for you, Y/n. I’ll be there for you now.’   
His majesty sighed, loudly. “Yes, yes. Now can we please get back to the topic at hand?”   
“Mycroft” your older sister now back to business said, “why can't she live with me and John? I can protect her, and I know John won't mind, I'm sure of it. I'll have to tell him about her, though. But I guess, it's inevitable now.” she rambled, while biting her lip.   
“Mary, I won’t have it.” his majesty snapped loudly, scaring you and your niece. “Someone is trying to kill her, because they found out about you.” he let his words sink in before continuing. “Y/n was supposed to be a revenge kill. Probably from one of the times you went rouge. If they find her, they'll kill her. Then, that person would most likely kill you and the rest of your family as well. So no, she can’t stay with you. At least till I neutralize this threat. Until then, I have to find the rat who knows about her. Only me, and a select few should have known about her and her use to the crown.” Mycroft explain as if he was talking to a three-year-old.   
You could tell he was tired, by the way he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. It was an oddly human gesture that for him. You had questioned if he was or not, human that is. His majesty never expressed much emotion, but always seemed to act over protective of everyone. Maybe it came from having Sherlock as a brother?   
From what you had heard, which wasn't much; he was once a drug addict, just quit smoking for the third time since the wedding, and solved crimes as alternative to getting high. He seemed interesting, like someone whom you would like to meet. A man of intrigue.You also supposedly had much in common with him, so he couldn't be all bad.   
Having zoned out, you tuned back into the conversation, which now turned into a full blown out fight. “-y, my word is final. She is my sister, not yours. She will not live there. She and Sherlock would destroy all of London!!” Mary screamed, now red faced. Mary ever rarely raised her voice. Needless to say you were now worried.   
“Y/n works for the government; I am the government. It is my decision.” his majesty said in his scary calm voice. You were shocked that he said that, he told you that he only occupied a small position in the government. Not that you ever believed, but still hearing him say it was a surprise.   
Little A started to cry at all the yelling. Feeling annoyed at them for upsetting her, you screamed “Both of you shut up!!!” Calmer you continued, “I don't care where I live, but it should my choice, and neither of yours. I'll move in to 221 B. Isn't there a nice old land lady?”   
At this, they were quiet. “Wasn't she a teacher, you know while her husband ran a drug cartel?” you supplied. “Your majesty, can I share an apartment with her instead of Sherlock?”   
Mycroft looked shocked, as if the thought had not occurred to him. You could live with a Mrs. Hudson, finish school and he could still keep close tabs on you. His majesty blinked a few times and decreed, “I don't see how that would be a problem. Y/n will live with Mrs. Hudson and will continue her training with me at the usual scheduled time.” He then looked at Mary, daring her to point out a problem with his decision. She said nothing.   
“Okay, it's settled. I'm moving into 221B Baker St.” You said, ending the subject.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is from the Great Consulting Detective's point of view. I hope I wrote him well, if not please tell me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I've been having really bad writers block. If anyone has any ideas, please message me.

Sherlock heard someone coming up the stairs. Judging by the sound of pace and the person's gait it was John. Sitting in his chair, he sipped his tea that Mrs. Hudson had left out for him that morning, so it was cold because now it was around four-ish in the afternoon. John came into the flat with the same look on his face that he had has been having for a while, since discovering Mary has a mail correspondent that she was trying to keep secret. His brows were furrowed, his lips were pursed together, and his hair was a mess.   
It was obvious really. Mary getting the mail only while John was out, carting the envelopes with her as if they were a life line of sorts, writing responses while she thought she wasn't being watched. Of course, Sherlock would figure it out; he had been watching their house since Amelia had been born. He was not going to let anything happen to her. So maybe he had noticed things, and he may have let it slip while talking to John. He was not jealous of his blogger’s and Mary's new life together. No matter what Gary said.   
John stormed past him and started to pace between the fireplace and the couch for a few minutes before speaking. “Sherlock. What did I do to deserve this? First, I find out that Mary was an assassin, then she bloody shot you, and now I find out that she may be cheating on me.” John shouted. “I mean, we have a child together Sherlock. Could she really do that to us, to Amelia?” now with his anger running out, he deflated into his arm chair across from his best-friend.   
Sherlock, resisting the urge to smile, replied animatedly, “I don't know John. You are just attracted to a certain type of life style. So, it stems to reason that your wife must be as well. Only hers contains sneaking around." He recounted all that he knew about the situation, "She only gets the mail when your gone, so she must be hiding a mail correspondent she doesn’t want you to know about. She carries the letters from said correspondent like they are from someone close to her. Therefore, the letters can only be from a relative or a lover. So, she may not be cheating on you. But she most likely is, because she isn't in touch with any one from her old life. Or as far as we know.” The detective punctuated his last sentence.   
John sat stone faced in his chair looking off into space.   
Leaving his friend to digest what he had said, Sherlock raised himself out of the armchair and grabbed his violin. He was composing a song that reminded him of John. All the memories they had shared, everything from A Study in Pink to the meeting The Woman. So naturally he wanted to play it for him. Plus, John always cheered up when he played.   
The melody started off slow and uncertain, then picked up to a rapid and dangerous pace. It was like the start of their friendship. When the suspense of the first movement reached its peak, it was the moment John shot the cabbie, and saved Sherlock’s life the first time. The moment they became forever bound.   
The second movement had a slightly Chinese feel, for it was dedicated to the Blind Banker case. It had a pentatonic scale rather than the traditional the diatonic scale. It was also when John had meet Sarah, the first in a long line of girlfriends. Sherlock added a small disquieted harmony to express them, but only for a few measures.   
The third movement was a quick and rapid tempo full of offbeat eighths. Sherlock switched to a 5/8 time signature around the 56 measure of the movement, giving the indication that the piece was coming unraveled. When they meet Moriarty it almost stopped, then suddenly it became waltz. Because it was a waltz he and John did with Moriarty, never sure who was leading. At the pool the music increased in volume from piano to forte. The chords were loud and fast, while the melody continued the simple one-two-three pattern.   
Then came the part where they had meet The Woman. The melody there suddenly had become a staccato march, inspired by John Philip Sousa. After that is where is stopped. It stopped because that's when Sherlock realized something. But he wasn't sure what it was, so he could not continue with the song. The realization was his heart warmed, and fluttered when he saw John. It made him uncertain for the first time in a while. The whole composition was twenty minutes so far.   
All the while he was playing, John was intently listening. “Are you composing something new? Because I like it. It reminds me of our cases.” the blogger praised.   
“Why yes, I am composing a new piece. I just can't seem to get past that last part.” Sherlock said, putting his violin down and blushing. Still waiting for it to die down, he walked to the window. He noticed in the reflection of the window that John wanted to ask him something.   
“Spit it out John. I may not have a case, but I still don't have all day.” he demanded.   
“Well, Mary got a ring around one this afternoon, and got all introverted and jumpy. Then about an hour ago, she suddenly grabbed Amelia and said she had to go somewhere. Sherlock, she seemed happy about going. Should I be worried?” John sullenly replied. He ducked his head in between his knees and breathed deeply, as if to hold something in.   
“No, John if she was going to meet a lover, why would she bring a baby with her? Unless he was the real father?” Sherlock guessed, accidentally hurting John.   
When he realized what, he had done, he started to apologize. Though he wasn't sorry about pointing out facts. “John, I'm sorry. I never should have said that. Of course, Mary isn't going to see another man. And no one else could be the father of Amelia, because she didn't start acting like this until a few months ago.”   
“But, Sherlock what should I do?” John ran his fingers through his hair, in a frustrated manner. “Do I confront her? Do I pretend like I don't know? I love her Sherlock; Christ I bloody love her. I love the life I have with her. I don't want to see that go away. I'm happy.” John finished and rested his head in his hands lost in thought.   
The detective cleared his throat to catch his friend’s attention. “John, I would wait.” Sherlock eyes meeting John’s in the reflection of the window. “But,” he continued after a sharp inhale, “I'm not you. Your life, therefore it is your choice.”   
At that Sherlock's phone gave a ring, breaking the tense moment. “John, could you hand me my phone? It's in my coat pocket.”   
“Really, Sherlock you're wearing your coat. Can't you get it yourself?” John said as he reached into Sherlock's coat pocket, and handing him the phone.   
'Why, John? Because I want to feel your touch, that's why.' Sherlock thought. But he would never say that out loud. He didn't want to ruin his blogger’s happiness, no. Just the opposite, he wanted to the reason for his happiness. Sadly, John was already happy. So Sherlock had to get by with just a touch here, and a compliment there. People said he didn't feel, but he did. Sherlock only pushed his feelings away so that John could be happy.   
“It's Mycroft. He says 'I have a surprise for you. Play nice. -MH' Hmm, odd.” John read the message to him. “Wonder what it could be. Any idea Sherlock?” he asked after placing the phone back into the coat pocket.   
“No clue.” Sherlock said, dismissing the text all together.   
John's phone went off. “It's Mary. She says she has to tell me something important. Do you think she knows that I know?” he questioned.   
“I doubt it's that. Perhaps it's on the topic of daycare the two have been discussing for Amelia. Mary probably found a better babysitter.” Sherlock deduced. Mary's name still felt like venom in his mouth. He didn't hate her, but he wasn't jealous either. No, he was above feeling that, wasn't he? So, what was this feeling towards her? He shook his head, and gazed at London through his windows. The sight usually calmed him, but tonight it didn't.   
'I'm going to my mind palace. I want to visit the time when I was his life.' The detective thought sullenly as he sat down in his armchair.   
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
“-lock. Sherlock. Bloody hell, Sherlock answer me.” John called out to him. How long had Sherlock been in his mind palace? The sun had gone done, so a few hours?   
“Hello brother.” his majesty greeted. Honestly there so no one more fitting for the nickname.   
Sherlock ignored him. Until he heard a new voice. “Your majesty are these the men who have told me about so much?” some young woman asked Mycroft. No one else used that nickname for Mycroft. Who was this person?   
Opening his eye's Sherlock saw a teenage girl, no more than seventeen standing in the door. She had on a private school uniform, and she clutched green duffel as if it was a lifeline. Her h/l h/c was pulled back into a low ponytail at the base for her neck; she had pale skin, as if she didn't get enough sun. The girl had long slender legs for her size from dancing for years; a small waist; and an only slightly bigger chest no more than a B-cup really. Molly even put her to shame.   
Her face was that most confusing part. It seemed to be a work of art still in the middle of being finished. She had delicate features that were lit up with a thin-lipped smile. Her nose was so small, like a button almost. She had big E/S eyes that seemed to keep changing colour as she looked over the small living space. Green looking at the couch, hazel with speckles of gold upon looking at his violin, blue like the sky gazing into the kitchen, and final a mass of colour upon looking at Sherlock, as if they couldn't seem to make up their mind. Why did this face intrigue his so much? Only John's face deserved to be studied out of pleasure. Not this little girl’s.   
Her voice really unnerved him, it sounded like a bunch of bells clashing together. The noise chaotic and beautiful at once. And when she said his name, he almost jumped out of his chair.   
“Hello. My name is Y/n. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Or should I call you 'your majesty' as well?” she joked.   
That was when Sherlock's heart started to beat like it did when he first met John. Who was this person, and how would she inevitably mess up his life?


	6. Chapter Five

While you introduced yourself, it was all you could do to keep from fainting like a Victorian maiden. Sherlock Holmes had made you forget about Mr. Jones with just one glance. His dark chocolate curls framed his face in the most perfect way, just tickling the edge of his sculpted cheek bones. His ivory skin made his sea green eyes stand out like ice on the Mediterranean. And his cupid bow lips parted ever so much when you said his name, you could have imagined it.   
Mary soon walked in behind you and Mycroft with Mrs. Hudson in tow. Once everyone was in the room, his majesty said, “Well now that we are all in the same room, I would like to explain all this once so I don't have to do it again.” in his sassy mono-toned way.   
“What do you mean brother mine?” Sherlock said. His voice sent molten lava to your core. You wondered what else his voice could do- When you mentally cursed yourself. This was not the time or place for those thoughts. Right now, his majesty was explaining why you were standing in a room with strangers staring you.   
“What I mean Sherlock is that, Y/n here is being tracked down for a revenge kill. The reason being is that she is Mary's younger sister. So, John, meet your sister in law. And Mrs. Hudson meet your new live in student and flat-mate.” Mycroft said addressing each of them separately.   
There was a shocked moment of silence before John got off the couch and rushed to embrace his small family. “Thank God, Mary. I thought you were seeing another bloke behind my back.” John whispered into Mary's ear, but loud enough for you to hear it. He let her go after she gave him a upset look, but not one all that surprised. She knew Sherlock could be on to her and would’ve said something to John.   
Then your new brother in law hugged you with both arms, leaving you just standing there in shock. After getting over it, you returned the hug with all that you could, including burying your head into crook of his neck. You thought, ‘Thank you for bringing sunshine to my sister’. You had to stand on tip toes to best hug him, so you got a scent that was uniquely your brother in law. John smelled of disinfectant and bar soap. And his almond scented hair tickled your nose, so you had to pull away giggling.   
“Sorry, it's just your hair was tickling me. What should I call you now? Big bro, Johnny boy, Doc, or just John.” you asked while still suppressing giggles.   
“Just John is fine.” He replied, cracking a smile.   
Moving towards the small couch, you set your bag beside your foot on the floor. Noticing Sherlock had not taken his eyes off you, you playfully stuck your tongue out. “That's what you get for staring, your princeliness. It's rude. Either speak to me or please look the other way.” you said to him.   
You heard faint chuckles from around the room. “Finally, someone calls him out on it. Hold on dear, I'll get you some tea.” Mrs. Hudson said. 'Aww, just like a grandmother would.' you thought, insistently liking her.   
“So, Mrs. Hudson, is it okay for me to be your new flat-mate? I mean I know I am going to be your flat-mate, but I think it would be nice to ask.” you called into the kitchen after her.   
Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “Yes, dear it's fine.” she called back.   
Mycroft said to her, “Do you remember the criteria for her grade? She had only a few more months before she was supposed to graduate.”   
“Of course I do. I may have typed for a drug cartel; I never handled the product dear.” Mrs. Hudson whipped back at him. You laughed as she set the tea in front of you.   
Adding milk and sugar to your drink, you asked his majesty, “Where in my training are we going to start next week? Considering we were shot at today.” “We will continue were we left off, just add dodging bullets to the training is all. Now that you are settled in, I shall be going. I still have fish out and torture a rat.” Mycroft said as he departed, stopping briefly to pat you awkwardly on your head.   
After his majesty left, your sister sat beside you on the small couch, while John went to sit in the red armchair in front of Sherlock's grey one. The two men looked at you and Mary expectedly, as if waiting for you to explain the universe. Amelia just slept away while this intense staring was going on, she must be used to it.   
You whispered to Mary, “Are they waiting for us to burst out into song, or something?”   
“No, they want you to tell them about the case.” she said as if it were obvious.   
“What case, my suitcase? Why would they want to know about that?” you whispered-screamed turning slightly red, thinking about everything in it.   
“No, Y/n. Your story. How you got here. From the beginning, if you please.” Sherlock said, startling everyone in the room. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------   
You didn't say anything at first, having been in shock from having heard Sherlock's voice. Mary, who had been in your place under less pleasant circumstances, wrapped an arm around you to provide some comfort. Amelia reached out to grab your finger in her small pudgy fist. The two of them made you relaxed enough to start. So, you began from the night your Mother died.   
“I believe my story begins when our Mother died.” you began. “Mother abused drugs since Mary was five, and she only got worse when Dad died on the job a while after I was born. Mary was doing her own jobs by then, so she wasn't home a lot... but when she was it was the best time a little sister could ask for." you smiled at your older sister before continuing.   
“Mother was playing with her 'magic white rocks' in the living room, and I was in the corner trying to stay out of her way. She was really losing it when she threw a vase at me. It barely missed my head, so when it shattered, the glass fell around me. The largest shard left a scare across my back.” you said through small barely noticeable gasps of air now. The whole time you were speaking, you looked at your shoes, not wanting to see anyone's face, the pity you saw in Mycroft’s eyes when he had heard.   
“Y/n I know this is hard, but it could really help us with your case.” John said.   
Mary squeezed your shoulder encouraging you to continue.   
“Mother then walked toward me, calling me over to her. Probably needed better access to reach me. Knowing better I ran to my room. While I was running, I grabbed the phone. After locking the door behind me, I called Mary to tell her what was going. She told me to stay in my room with the door locked. The whole time Mother was pounding on my door, but sometime during the call she went back to the living room. By then I felt the pain in my back, it felt like I was being torn in two. As Mary and I hung up, I laid down and blacked out.   
“After about an hour, I woke up to the sound of a gunshot. Waiting for a few minutes, I went to the living room to see what was going on. I saw Mary dressed in all black, standing over Mother's body with a gun pointed at her heart. She had tears in her eyes, when she saw me. Mary then picked me up, and explained everything from 'the life', to why we had to go into hiding. We packed everything from the old house in America, and then we moved here with the help of his majesty.” You took a peak up from your shoes and saw Sherlock taking careful notes in his mind and John looking at Mary with a new interest. He was learning a little more about his wife’s history and loving her more because of her courage.   
Swallowing, you continued, “Mycroft shipped me off to my private school, and Mary continued doing jobs. We kept up with one another through handwritten letters these last few months. I found out that Mary had gotten married and started a family, it is the life she deserved” you said this looking at your sister with small smile.   
“Last month his majesty offered to train me and I accepted. As for my reason of being here, my math teacher, Mr. Jones, found out about that Mary is my sister and threatened to kill me in revenge. Apparently, she killed his wife and he was more than happy to hurt me to get to her. But while he was monologuing I knocked him out onto his arse and called his majesty for lift.” It felt as if you had been talking forever when you had finished, but looking at the clock it had only been three minutes.   
The room was silent for a while, except for Amelia’s baby noises. You wondered if it was because you revealed that you and Mary were from America. Or if you told John and Sherlock a few puzzle pieces they desperately wanted to know. Finally, to break the uncomfortable silence you asked John, “What is this case you and Mary keep talking about anyway?”   
“Your case, Y/n. You see we; John and I that is; help people with cases we find interesting enough. And yours is certainly interesting. A young assassin in training, a teacher bent on revenge, and the person who informed said teacher about you.” Sherlock answered in John's stead, while getting out of his armchair.   
“Why would someone go after you? Why not go after her husband? John works at a free clinic, so he is relatively easy to get to. Or her newborn, who's nanny falls asleep with the door unlocked for hours on end. Mary don't ask me how I know, honestly you think I would not watch your house with just anyone alone with Amelia?” Sherlock looked at Mary sharply before continuing. “Why go after her little sister in a private school with the high levels of security? Why when Mary's new family is so much easier to get a hold of?” the whole time he was talking Sherlock paced from the kitchen to the door.   
'He smells nice like rain and wood polish, it's oddly sexy.' you thought as he paced near you. Watching him pace back and forth for a few minutes, you didn't pay attention to either John or Mary. You mentally cursed yourself again. ‘Seriously what is with me and older men? I have a problem.' you shook your head to try to rid images of the detective from your mind.   
“So, that's a no then? I would have thought you'd like to see our house tomorrow Y/n.” John said, breaking you out of a trance. 'Man, I'm having a lot of those today.' you thought.   
“Of course, I want to see your house, I was just thinking to myself. What time tomorrow were you two thinking?” you asked John and Mary.   
“Is one a good time for you?” John asked.   
“Yeah, if it's okay with Mrs. Hudson” you said giving her puppy dog eyes.   
“It's fine dear, as long Sherlock goes with you. You'll need the extra protection it seems.” That made Sherlock stop his hypnotic pacing.   
“What? Why do I have to go? Mycroft can set up some kind of detail.” Sherlock said, clearly annoyed.   
“Because dear I said so. Now Y/n, say good-bye. You'll want to be rested up for the big day ahead.” Mrs. Hudson said, ending the discussion. Sherlock, rolled his eyes and went back to pacing.   
“Yes ma'am.” you said, smiling to yourself.   
“Goodnight, Y/n.” Mary said hugging you. “Night, Mary. Nighty-night Little A.” you whispered to your sleeping niece, kissing her forehead. Amelia gurgled in her sleep.   
“Night, Y/n. We'll see you tomorrow.” John said giving you an awkward one-armed hug, before helping Mary up. “Night John.”   
After John helped Mary; who was still holding her newborn; up, the two said goodbye to Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson before exiting the flat to hail a cab.   
“Come down in a few minutes’ dear, I want to straighten up a wee bit first.” Mrs. Hudson told you before leaving you alone with a pacing Sherlock.


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How dose Sherlock react to the reader when they're alone? Sherlock's pov. Then reader's at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait guys. I had a hard time writing from Sherlock's point of view. I actually rewrote this chapter about four times before I thought it was good enough for public viewing.  
> If you think there's a better way to write Sherlock, please leave a comment.  
> Leave any critics, comments, questions or concerns below. Leave a kudos if you enjoyed.  
> P.S. Do you guys want more switch off between the two? Please let me know if you do, or don't.

‘Where’s John? He was just here… Where is everyone?’ Sherlock thought when he left his mind palace after filing the facts about the case away. While in there he also started a file on Y/n. Mainly physical details and a few facts about her life so far. Some assumptions too. Though no real deductions because he frustratingly couldn’t read the girl. He included her picture as well.   
Sherlock mentally ticked off what he had on her, ‘Abusive Mother, much older and estranged sister, slightly extroverted if she is like Mary, loves Amelia, beautiful eyes that sparkle, quick to joke...’ Sherlock stopped pacing and reviewed his list. He wondered when he added the detail about her eyes. Certainly, he didn’t find her eyes beautiful. At least he didn’t think he did.   
There was the creak of the floor boards near his bed room. The Great Consulting Detective realized he wasn’t alone. With a bubble of hope he silently peaked around the corner into the hallway and stepped into kitchen. The bubble popped when he saw who it was. He had thought John had stayed so the two could spend some much needed time together, but no it was Y/n. After a flicker of disappointment, the curiosity from earlier flooded his being. That annoying pounding heart thing as well. Sherlock furrowed his brow as he looked at her.   
Why was she here? Why couldn’t Sherlock get read on the girl? And why on earth was she just walking around his flat and staring at everything? He cleared his throat, catching her attention. She stood stock still for a moment before turning to face him. She had the decency to look sheepish. Sherlock was a mix of amused and annoyed. It seems Y/n wasn’t one to let social conventions to stop her from following her curiosity. ‘Maybe she isn’t an idiot after all.' he thought.   
Sherlock demanded somewhat warmer tone than he expected to use, “What exactly are you doing?”   
“Hello Mr. Holmes, I see you stopped your pacing.” Y/n squeaked like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.   
The detective replied sarcastically “Brilliant observation, but why are you sneaking around my flat?”   
Y/n, who seemingly recovered her wits, wasted no time before giving her answer with shrug, “I tried talking to you while you were pacing, Mr. Detective, but you wouldn’t answer me. So, I decided to have a look around the flat of his majesty’s younger brother. I’ve heard some about you from him, and you interest me. Also, I don’t enjoy being bored.”   
Sherlock understood hating being bored. It was like a gnawing sensation at the back of his throat while he itched for something worthy of his attention. But she hadn’t explained why she was here in his flat and more specifically why John wasn’t. Y/n’s eyes lit up with the realization of what he else wanted explained, her lips parted slightly as she mouthed ‘Oh’. His eyes flicked to her mouth as she did so, and he noticed how, they were slightly chapped thanks to the wind earlier today. She explained that everyone left around thirty minutes ago and Mrs. Hudson wanted to straighten up her flat before she let Y/n see it for the first time.   
The detective nodded, this sort of thing happened quite a lot. He would be in his mind palace and not notice the world around him. Sherlock often talked to John when he wasn’t there anymore, having left to be with Mary and Amelia.   
Sherlock looked Y/n up and down whilst she looked back at him. ‘Damn. I still can’t deduce anything from her.’ She noticed his micro expression change, it was the littlest furrow of his eyebrows. She asked, “Mr. Holmes,” Sherlock cut her off, “Sherlock, please. Mr. Holmes is a bit too formal, seeing as you’ll be living here.”   
Y/n smiled a slow thin smile and ducked her head, “Sherlock, is there something wrong? You seemed upset a moment ago.” He was pleasantly shocked, and shocked once more because he found it pleasant. Only John had ever picked on a change so small in his demeanor, and only after living with him for a while.   
‘Must be her training. She must be aware of even the smallest change in her surroundings to keep from getting herself killed.’ Sherlock reasoned. “It’s nothing, Y/n. I just… Never mind.” The detective mumbled and looked down.   
The detective wondered what the both of them could do to rid themselves of boredom. He spun on his heel and stepped into the living room “Would you to play a game to pass the rest of the time? I have Operation, Cluedo, and Chess.” he listed off his small collection of board games as he looked them on the shelf near the window.   
Y/n padded in the room after him and plopped into John’s armchair unceremoniously. “You chose, Mr.-,” she cut herself off, “Sherlock. I believe you already have chosen a path in each to destroy me.”   
The detective smirked while choosing Operation, “I am fairly well versed in each, but every new opponent t offers a new set of challenges.” a small amount of pride entered his voice.   
Y/n smiled. “Fair point. Oh, I use to love Operation when I was younger,” her eyes lit up when she saw his choice.   
Sherlock sat down in the grey leather armchair and set up the game in between them. She watched his long fingers dance over the game set as he put all the pieces in place. He could feel her gaze on him as he did so, Sherlock was tempted to admit he liked it in the deepest part of his mind palace. She passed out the specialist cards between them both as he put the rubber band in place, and she also stacked the money and doctor’s cards neatly.   
Sherlock looked at Y/n through his long dark lashes, and she looked flush but didn’t say anything. He silently, after a small nod from her drew the first doctor’s card. ‘Wretched ankle, easy enough.’ He thought. Sherlock removed it gathered up his cash. As he passed the tweezers to Y/n, he felt a jolt, a spark. ‘Static electricity, nothing more.’ the detective told himself, but it didn’t stop the feeling from pleasantly traveling up his arm.   
As Y/n drew her card, the detective said, “Operation is a rather telling game. Even if very few realize it.” She saw that she had the specialist card for Adam’s Apple and purposely failed the first try, getting it one the second and doubled her money. The girl smirked as she retrieved her cash.   
"The great Sherlock Holmes needs a game to tell him something about me that he has already deduced?" she teased him.   
Sherlock enjoyed it when Y/n said his name, the butterflies in his stomach fluttered a little faster. Like when his blogger brushed by him. “Well, you , Y/n, are competitive. You didn’t need to fail on your first try, but for a better chance of winning later you did.”   
She wasn’t surprised at his deduction at all. Y/n smiled, “I am very competitive, but I always thought it was because I enjoyed winning so much.” He understood, Sherlock enjoyed besting others though he doubted that’s why Y/n enjoyed winning. She passed him the tweezers back to him, and he felt the spark again. Sherlock involuntarily glanced at his hand before continuing.   
He drew his card, and saw he had the specialist to go along with it. He missed on purpose and got it on the second try. The Spare Rib was always the easiest for him. ‘This is rather tedious’ the detective thought to himself. Sherlock wanted to make the game more interesting, so he grabbed the all the cards and money then threw them back into the box by his side.   
Y/n let out a “Hey” before she saw his smirk and the mischievous look in his beautiful blue-green eyes. It reminded her of when his majesty added something extra to the training sessions. Like blindfolding her and having her run a maze using her other four senses,   
She smiled back, “What are you planning, detective?”   
“You don’t need the cards to play they make it much too boring. Would you like to keep our current pieces and continue? The ones we have will return to their original value.” Sherlock asked with a tone in his voice he only ever used with John. It made him warmer, slightly more human. He didn’t know why he used this tone, it just came out naturally.   
Y/n nodded with a smile. “But how are we supposed to play without the cards and money?” The detective replied, “Just choose a piece. Winner has the most points at the end.”   
Y/n picked up the tweezers and removed Water on Knee. Sherlock noted how she immediately evened the score. She passed him the tweezers with a smirk. He felt that annoying spark again as her fingertips grazed his palm, ‘Why does this keep happening? There is no way possible a person can keep that much of an electrical charge after discharging so many times.’ he thought curiously. Sherlock chose a random piece and withdrew it.   
The game continued in a comfortable silence for some time, the annoying jolt happening every time their hands touched. So far the detective saw she was removing the easier pieces like he was. Keeping their scores matched. He deuced that Y/n preferred to wait until the end of a challenge before making her move to win. ‘Methodical. Makes sure the playing field is even giving her opponent they’re best chance to win as well. Although she never intends to let anyone beat her.’ The consulting detective added ‘kind yet extremely cunning’ to her file.   
Sherlock removed the Butterflies in the Stomach making his score 750 to her 650. He expected her to match him, but Y/n tried and failed at picking up the Broken Heart.   
‘This,’ he thought, ‘this is something interesting. Is she making her move? Or does she actually have a broken heart?’. Sherlock reviewed Y/n’s file, and concluded that she was making a move. It was something, he surprising admitted, was something he would’ve done. Sherlock decided to play her game, turn her choice against herself. He smirked.   
Y/n passed him the tweezers, this time the shock was audible. A tiny pop. Both Y/n and himself looked at their touching hands. They’re eyes meet and Y/n looked away blushing. The detective felt like ants started crawling under his skin. He wanted to jump up. To move. He took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. The ants stopped, but he felt a small blush across his cheeks. Thankfully it fell after a second, before she saw it.   
The awkward moment broke when Y/n turned around with a smile, pretending that she was looking around the room.   
Sherlock paused before continuing with his plan, “Who broke your heart?”   
She smiled, believing he fell into her trap. That is, she would ‘prove him wrong’, hoping he’d mess up and become frustrated. “That’s the thing Sherlock, no one has. Not yet anyway.”   
Sherlock grinned with a beautiful, but wickedly sharp gleam in his eye. “That’s is where you’re wrong, Ms. Y/n, someone has broken your heart. It wasn’t recently ether. A broken heart can stem from many things, not just a failed romance.” He muttered all this while removing the Bread Basket, allowing himself to win.   
Sherlock looked up into her eyes and waited for her call him rude, to call him a freak, to insult him in some way, to react like all the other idiots. Instead she surprised him, again. A smile, the biggest one he’d seen so far, lit up her face. “Fantastic!!! Brilliant!!! You picked up on my trick. No one has ever done that before. And yes Sherlock, I am a little sad about my family situation, but I like to think that my heart is stronger from where it healed over the cracks.”   
This rarely happened, Sherlock was stunned into silence. In one fail swoop this little girl told him he was brilliant and she wasn’t upset about what he deduced about her like most people were. She had also surprised him with her strength, and how well she knew herself. Y/n L/n was a beautifully unique oddity. Just like his John.   
Her smile wavered a little bit when Sherlock didn’t answer right away. He quickly recovered when he noticed. “Um, thank you.” Sherlock said. At that moment, Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs and said, “I’m sorry I took so long dearie. I just wanted your room to be perfect.”   
Y/n flashed a quick grin up at the caring landlady. “It’s okay Mrs. Hudson, I appreciate the effort.”   
“Thank you, love. I hope Sherlock treated you well?”   
“He was an absolute gentleman. We played Operation and I had fun.”   
Mrs. Hudson was shocked, but very happy. Sherlock rarely tried another person comfortable. “That’s wonderful! Now I won’t have to take away his morning tea.”   
Sherlock pretended to be hurt, “Mrs. Hudson, how would I survive without my morning cuppa?”   
Mrs. Hudson laughed, “You won’t have to find out now dearie. Will you still take Y/n to her sister’s tomorrow?”   
“As long as she will allow a stop on the way there, I see no reason not to?” Sherlock looked at her with raised eyebrows, asking her.   
“I don’t see why not.” She answered.   
“We’ll leave around eleven thirty then.” The detective then jumped up out of his armchair an offered her a hand. She took it, and a little too quickly pulled herself up with his help. Sherlock felt her collide with his chest, and he immediately reached out to balance her. Their eyes meet. Brilliant blue green and her multi shaded e/c jewels held each other, and to Sherlock it seemed like the world melted away. She broke the moment when she quickly stepped back and reached for her duffle, much to his disappointment.   
“Show me my room, Mrs. Hudson?” Y/n asked at the door.   
“Of course love.” Mrs. Hudson said walking out the door and down the steps. She followed her new flatmate down the stairwell.   
Sherlock stood there listening to the conversation fade, feeling her warmth still against his chest. 

 

  
Mrs. Hudson’s flat was past the basement flat of 221 C, and the arm chair at the base of the stairs. After walking through a small white walkway, a living room and kitchen come into view. You entered the kitchen that could’ve been straight from the seventies, as Mrs. Hudson was gently leading you to the dining area in the back. The kitchen and dining room fit her to a tee. The cabinet doors were a shade of avocado green with a white counter top. The wallpaper in the dining area was covered in faded purple flowers.   
Your new flatmate sat you down at the table, and shoved some cold meat and biscuits into your hands before she sat down across from you. “I know you probably hadn’t had much to eat today, so eat that and I’ll show you to your room. There is only one bathroom I’m afraid. I hope you don’t mind.”   
In between bites of the best cold turkey you’ve ever had you said, “It’s perfectly fine Mrs. Hudson. Thank you again for taking me in on such short notice.”   
The older woman smiled, “I’m happy too. It gets a little boring cleaning up after Sherlock and gossiping with the other landladies. We’ll start your lessons once you’ve settled in.” You finished your sandwich and felt all the events of the past day catch up to you. Your hostess caught on and helped you to your room. The hallway was past the grandmotherly living room and had three doors. Yours was the one at the very end.   
Your room was smaller than the one back at school, but had a double bed covered in a knitted quilt. As you looked around, you saw the room was a pale yellow and contained a long dresser with a mirror and a small writing desk in the corner. All three made of the same dark wood.   
“Thank you, it's wonderful.” you said as you turned around to hug her.   
Mrs. Hudson was surprised but returned the favor and wished you good night. You unpacked your duffle and put the picture of your family on the desk. After you set the alarm and changed, you laid down on the soft bed.   
You thought about the day you had and smiled. You saw Mary, meet her family, and most importantly Mr. Holmes. ‘Sherlock, he wants me to call him Sherlock.’ you thought to yourself with a smile.   
Was it just you, or did he feel the sparks when your hands brushed too? He made you blush more than you thought was possible. When he looked at you through his lashes, you had wondered if Sherlock would give you the same smoldering look if he was between your legs. The memory made you flush all over again.   
And what about the time you both heard the shock, you could’ve sworn he was blushing when you turned back around. Then when he held you against his chest. His eyes exploded into a rainbow of colour. You only turned away because you could feel your cheeks warming. Even now you felt his arms around you. Strong and safe. Almost like home?   
‘NO. Stop right now, Y/n. Mycroft would literally skin you alive if he knew what you were thinking about.’ you thought to yourself.   
Above you, you heard a door close and the sound of someone moving around. Then you heard someone talking, it sounded like Sherlock’s deep baritone. ‘Is my? No it can’t be. But it’s the only explanation.’ you figured.   
Your bedroom was right under Sherlock’s. And you could hear everything he was doing. He was speaking to himself as he was getting ready for bed. You found this incredibly adorable. Falling asleep this way wasn’t so bad. Listening to him pad around and his muffled voice. Sometimes you heard things like, “John”, or “His majesty”. It was quite adorable.   
You were half asleep when you heard a soft creak and, “Goodnight, Y/n.”   
You smiled, “Goodnight, Sherlock. Sweet dreams.” Then you dreamt the night away.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader tries to wake a sleeping Sherlock. Things do not turn out like she had hoped. Mycroft's assistant gets a little fleshed out. I always saw her as a fan of American Punk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always if you enjoyed reading The Little Secret, please leave a kudus. If you have any tips on how to write Sherlock in character, please leave a comment. Thank you for reading this far. 
> 
>  
> 
> H/n = Her name  
> Y/b/m = Your birth month  
> H/l = Hair length  
> H/c = Hair colour  
> Y/I = Your initials

You blinked awake to the sound of your alarm blaring the song “Angel”, by Theory of a Deadman. Mycroft’s assistant, Anthea, got you started on them. She was listening to the band when a clearly government vehicle arrived at your school to take you to your first training session with his majesty. As you reached across the unfamiliar bed for your mobile, you recalled the events of the past day.   
1\. Mr. Jones trying to kill you, ‘He was so hot too…’ you thought glumly as you flopped back on the bed.   
2\. Mycroft coming to the rescue.   
3\. Seeing Mary and meeting Amelia and John.   
4\. Then meeting him. Mr. Sherlock Holmes.   
The Great Consulting Detective whom everyone and their pet goldfish compared you to. ‘I honestly don’t see it though’, you thought as you scrolled through your messages left by your friends from school.   
‘OMG, Y/n, what happened? Where are you?’ was from your best friend, H/n.   
‘Do you know why Mr. Jones was arrested, Y/n? – Anna’, was from the girl who at sat in front of you in history.   
‘Did you hear the gun shots yesterday? By the way, what was the homework for Mrs. Harper?’   
These messages plus many more like them blew up your mobile. You sent a quick text to Mycroft asking about what to do about them.   
Really wanting nothing more than too go back to sleep, you flew out of your new bed and into Mrs. Hudson’s hall. Wandering in the direction of the kitchen and you found a plate of eggs, toast, bacon, and grapes with a cuppa and a note on the table. Mrs. Hudson had crimped but very feminine hand writing. You read her note as you scarfed down the heavenly food.   
“Y/n. I went on a few errands around town this morning. I didn’t know when you would be up dear, so I made you breakfast. It may be cold so warm it up in the microwave.   
Don’t be surprised if you don’t find Sherlock up and about right now. He isn’t a morning person, the poor man. You may have to wake him up for your outing today. Try to not let him sleep too much. He gets a tad grumpy”.   
Love,   
Mrs. Hudson”   
You shook your head a little. Sherlock not being a morning person didn’t surprise you. It made a little sense now, being compared to him. You yourself hated mornings and preferred staying in bed all day if you could. The only reason you had gotten up at eight thirty was to get ready for your ‘outing’ with Sherlock, as Mrs. Hudson had put it.   
After rinsing the plate in the sink, you went back to your room for a change of clothes. You picked out your black skinny jeans and the black bardot neck top Mary sent you on your birthday this past y/b/m. Making your way to the bathroom with outfit in hand, you saw that had the same colour scheme as the kitchen.   
Looking around the bathroom for some products, you saw it was full with your favorite soaps, shampoos, and conditioners already. ‘His majesty must have had something do with this’, you smiled to yourself. After taking a much needed long shower, you dressed.   
After braiding your h/l h/c hair, you had a thought to look in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Your suspicions were correct. The makeup brand you used was conveniently stocked up.   
Smiling, you text his majesty again, ‘Thank you for the gifts, sire – Y/I’.   
‘I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Y/n. Now finish getting ready and wake my brother. – MH. P.S. Ignore your school mates for the moment. I’m taking care of it.’   
Sending a quick text confirming you would, you put your mobile down on the sink.   
You did your makeup rather quickly and once satisfied with your appearance, walked upstairs to wake Sherlock. At the flat door, you held your fist to knock but hesitated. Deciding against it, you turned the knob and surprisingly found the door unlocked.   
Taking little notice of the living area of the flat, you crept down the hall to Sherlock’s bedroom. You halted, figuring it better to knock this time than to barge in. ‘Who knows, maybe he knows some form of martial arts, and would have a hand around my throat as soon as I walked in.’ you thought. Rapping loudly three times, you sing songed, “Wake up, Mr. Detective. It’s ten in the morning and if you still want to leave by eleven thirty, get up.”   
You heard a deep gravely rumble, and a low creak. Rolling your eyes at his refusal to wake up, you opened his room and marched in not caring about his possible martial art skill anymore. Sherlock was sprawled out on his bed, the comforter only covering his bottom half, leaving his stomach and chest exposed. He was pale and built like a dancer, toned with lean muscle. Seeing his bare chest caused you to take in a quick breath.   
However, the sound didn’t rouse the man at all. Getting over the image of the lovely man, you awkwardly tried to shake him awake. Your hand on his shoulder caused another shock, “Sherlock, wakey wakey eggs and bacey.” you said in his ear. Sherlock rolled over and pulled you into his bed and against his chest sleepily.   
You went rigid against him, a warm blush spreading across your face. Trying to push away from him, only made him hold you tighter. Though crush would be a better word for it. You decided to try climbing out of his embrace. After ten minutes of flustered and embarrassing attempts to remove yourself, you stopped moving and found your upper half released. Excited you looked back to see how much progress was left to be made before sweet, sweet freedom. You saw Sherlock’s sleeping face instead. It was much more peaceful when he slept, holding no tight expressions like he wore during the day.   
You sighed, knowing you would regret this later. You eased yourself back into the beautiful man’s hold. It was much quicker work than trying to free yourself. It only took about thirty seconds. ‘Almost like he didn’t want to let me go…?’ you wonder as you relaxed against him.   
Now you were comfortably caged in between Sherlock’s arms and chest, his breath tickling the top of your head. Figuring the two of you would be here a while, you closed your eyes as well and listened to his heart beat. It was a lovely deep baritone like his voice.   
He was warm and solid. Safe. The detective brought back long forgotten feelings of being protected. Of feeling welcomed and cared for. Of something you only felt with Mary. Of home.   
It was in this moment or in all the minutes combined of being wrapped up in his arms, you unknowingly fell in love with William Sherlock Scott Holmes.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's point of view. The detective wakes up to find the reader in his bed.

Sherlock’s P.O.V about an hour later   
John was much smaller than the last time Sherlock held him. ‘When was that? Oh yes, when he was learning to waltz. Diet must be working.’ he thought lazily. He smelt different too. Not in a bad way, just more citrus than musk. His hair became longer as well, in desperate need of a trim. John’s skin also got much softer, and had built up a large amount of static electricity.   
His friend was shocking him constantly. John turned in his arms and his cheek brushed against Sherlock’s chest.   
“John….?”, the detective questioned. ‘John’ moved again and let out an oddly feminine sigh. ‘Not John’, Sherlock decided. He cracked open his eyes and saw Y/n asleep in his arms.   
He was surprised, the last thing he remembered was John telling him to wake up or they would be late. Then his best friend becoming impatient and barging in his room to shake him awake. Sherlock, not wanting to get up, pulled John into bed with him hoping his friend would shut up.   
Much to his displeasure Y/n wasn’t John. ‘Be honest, Sherlock. No one could come close to John.’ he scolded himself for thinking ‘this plain little girl’ could have ever been his blogger. The detective shot up and unceremoniously dropped Y/n beside him. He heard a surprised high pitched ‘eep’ and then a thunk from where she rolled onto the floor. Sherlock almost asked if she was okay, almost.   
Mary’s little sister glared up at him from the pile of sheets on the floor. “Why on God’s green earth did you do that for?” she barked at up him.   
Sherlock, still half asleep and fairly annoyed, replied lowly, “Would you react different if there was uninvited guest in your bed?”   
Y/n, losing her temper spat, “You’re the one who pulled me into bed your bed! I wouldn’t say I was uninvited.” she punctuated who clearly pulled whom into who’s bed.   
“Well, why didn’t you try to remove yourself then?” he spat back.   
“I tried Sherlock, but you sleep like a bear on holiday. You have the strength of one as well. So, you as you can deduce, I was stuck until you found in your heart to wake the bloody hell up.” Y/n said pointedly.   
‘She has an angry fire in her eyes, it’s rather lovely.’ the detective thought before catching himself. ‘No, it’s not.’ he snapped at himself as the little girl picked herself up fuming. Brushing herself off, Y/n said “Just get ready. We have thirty minutes before we leave, that is if you still want to go on your mystery errand?”   
Sherlock ignored her, of course he did. He needed someone with him to go in there, or else he’d look like an idiot. Looking at the bedside clock, he noticed she was right, it was eleven already. The detective, silently cursed himself for over sleeping, and out of bed and ran to his closet for a fresh suit, his raven locks bouncing around his face.   
Y/n, rolled her eyes and left his bedroom with the door slamming behind her. Sherlock, with suit in hand, ran into the bathroom for a quick shower. As he was getting ready he heard sounds like breakfast being made in the kitchen. ‘What is she doing now?’ he thought irritated that she was making so much noise.   
Coming out of the bathroom with his curls still dripping wet, he saw her with an apron tied around her waist. The sight was rather domestic. She was standing over the stove making eggs. The coffee maker was also brewing. Sherlock heard Y/n hum off key as she plated. When she turned around, she seemed shocked to see him.   
“You really need to stop doing that. This is my flat, after all. You shouldn't be surprised to see me in it.” the wet detective said.   
“I didn’t hear you come out of the bathroom. I made you breakfast”, Y/n offered a hopeful smile, not replying to his quip at all.   
Sherlock took the plate and looked at the eggs suspiciously. “I didn’t poison them, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just wanted to say sorry about this morning. If I had known you would’ve pulled me into bed with you, I would’ve knocked harder.” she casually said over her shoulder as she poured the coffee in two mugs.   
Placing one in front of Sherlock, Y/n filled her with lots of creamer and sugar. The detective fixed his and ate his eggs hurriedly. Much to his surprise yet again, the eggs weren’t that bad. He added ‘Can cook. Temper easily flared if dropped unconsciously onto the floor. Tries to keep people on good terms. Likes sweet coffee.’ to her slowly growing file, much to Sherlock’s dismay. Even after a night’s rest and apparent cuddle session with her, the Consulting Detective could not read Y/n.   
Finishing his breakfast Sherlock offered a “Thank you” to her. She smiled in welcome.   
“We need a cab. The sale starts soon and if we don’t leave, we’ll miss it.” he said as he grabbed his coat, while Y/n hurried to catch up.   
“What sale?” she asked.   
“There’s a baby store near John’s having a sale at noon. I can’t really go in there alone without looking like a creep or a kidnapper.” Sherlock said as he rushed down the stairs, followed by Y/n. Hailing a cab, he continued with a proud uncle’s smile “Amelia needs a push chair and I intend to spoil her rotten.”   
Her eyes lit up at the chance to pick something out for her lovely niece.   
Sliding into the cab, she asked “Can I help pay for it? It would a lot to me if I could.” Sherlock could never say no to Mary’s puppy dog eyes even if he wasn’t partially fond of her, and her shooting him didn’t help. It seemed to be the case with Y/n as well. “Fine, but just how do you plan to?” he relented.   
She smiled a mischievous smile. “I pick pocket his majesty when he yells too much. I happen to have his Visa.”   
Sherlock laughed, “That’s fantastic. Won’t he notice?”   
Her smile widened, “He hasn’t in a month.”   
The detective liked this little girl a little more now. Anyone who could pull one over on Mycroft dissevered respect.   
“Where to, sir?” asked the cabbie.   
“Peppermint on Chiswick High Road.” Sherlock said. The cabbie nodded and started driving.   
It was a few minutes into the ride that the detective noticed Y/n was shivering. Without saying a word, he slipped off his coat and draped it around her shoulders. She accepted with a small thanks and pulled it closer around herself. Her blush didn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock. Seeing it made him rather proud, like when John use to compliment him.   
Together the two rode in comfortable silence towards Peppermint’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So chapter seven and eight were originally one long chapter, but I decided to make it two after some advice from a friend of mine. I hope you all enjoyed.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute fluffiness. Confident reader. Dense Sherlock. Reader's P.O.V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I redid my whole story to make it cleaner. Hope you like it.

You and Sherlock entered Peppermints just as the sale had started. Everywhere you looked you saw many young couples with newborns and many young women browsing around. The detective made a beeline for the back of the store where the push chairs were. Not leaving you much choice, you followed.   
He immediately started comparing the two closest to him. You on the other hand, slowly walked through the displays waiting for one to catch your eye.A cute purple stroller caught your eye. It was the perfect size for Amelia and for the shorter parents who would be pushing her. You can imagine Little A inside the basket smiling up at you and kicking her feet. Or she could play with one of the toys hanging from the top.   
With a smile on your face, you whipped up your head to call Sherlock over, when you saw a very attractive woman flirting with him. He was clearly oblivious to what she doing, but he looked uncomfortable all the same. A wave of jealousy rushed through you at the sight of the two.   
Without thinking about what you were doing, you confidently strolled up to Sherlock and laced your right hand with his left. A confused Sherlock and an even more confused woman openly stared at you, as you fought to keep the blush from creeping up your neck.   
Clearing your throat, you raised your eyebrow up at the woman. “Honey,” you said sweetly to Sherlock hoping that he would catch on, “who is this?” Sherlock’s eyes became wide as he figured out what you were doing.   
“Oh, love, this is Millie. We were just talking about the sale and the pros and cons of stuffed animals. Isn’t that right, Millie?” Sherlock squeezed your hand in thanks. You squeezed his back. Your hands molded together perfectly, and sparks kept flying from your laced fingers.   
‘Millie’ clearly wasn’t buying what you two were selling because she raised her eyebrows at your conjoined hands. She said, “Who’s this? Your daughter?” she asked with sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Little one, why don’t run along now and let the adults talk?” the bitch said dismissing you, before returning her gaze back to Sherlock.   
Her words sent anger raking down your spine. You had dealt with these kinds of girls back the academy, entitled and prissy. They had always looked down on everyone, and surrounded themselves girls who were just as fake as they were. They bullied others with no regard or remorse. You yourself had been picked on because of your size, and you would be damned if you didn’t stand up for yourself now.   
“Actually, ‘little one’, he’s my boyfriend,” you bated your eyes up at Sherlock with a smirk, “and if you don’t mind I would love to show him the stroller I picked out.” Sherlock blushed and returned your gaze, pretending to be helplessly in love with you.   
"You... Your're expecting?!?!" Millie asked clearly baffled. "But she's so much younger than you!!" She looked back in forth between you and Sherlock with a baffled expression on her face.   
Guiding your free hand to your stomach, you said "That's right. Twelve weeks. We're having a boy. Aren't we sweetie?" Sending a loving smile to the detective, you stood on your tip toes and pecked his cheek. Sherlock, now fully committed to the act, hummed contently. Moving his free hand over the on your stomach, he sweetly said "That's right."   
The detective spared a glance at Millie and smirked."She's not that young, Y/n here is twenty-one. But she gets that all the time, don't you love?" he asked you. Pretending to be offend you lightly slapped his arm. You chuckled and turned back to a very confused Millie. "Anything else we can help you with?" After she didn't respond, you said lowly, "Guess not."   
You then guided the detective away from Millie, who’s jaw was hanging open.   
As you walked away, Sherlock started snickering. You soon followed suit. You couldn’t believe what you had just done, let alone how well it turned out.   
The consulting detective’s baritone chuckles soon died off, “That was fantastic, Y/n. You left her speechless.”   
You blushed hearing Sherlock compliment you. “Well, you looked uncomfortable. What else was I supposed to do? Besides, I can’t stand people like her.”   
“‘People like her...?’” he echoed. Sherlock was curious about what made you so angry.   
You shrugged your shoulders, “You know entitled, shallow, can’t see past their own noses.” Sherlock nodded in agreement, he dealt with Donovan constantly.   
You stopped in front of the pushchair you wanted to show him. You tried to indicate with your right hand, but found it still tightly grasped in his. Blushing you dropped his hand, and sadly the warmth that came with it. You looked down and cleared your throat to rid the awkward moment, and missed his disappointed face.   
“This one just made me think of Little A, I mean Amelia.” you said after a moment. “I could imagine her smiling up whoever was pushing her, or her playing with the stuffed giraffe.” Sherlock glanced at you when you accidentally said your nickname for Amelia, but didn’t say anything. He then dropped to his knees and studied the stroller.   
You stood there watching him test out the springs, height control thing, and the stability of the carriage. Nodding in satisfaction, the detective reached under the display model and grabbed the remaining box. “You chose well, Y/n. John will love this.” Sherlock said the last part almost to himself. You noticed he didn’t say Mary, but you thought nothing of it.   
He took off with the box under one arm in the direction of the register. You hurriedly rushed after him trying to keep up with his long legs. The line was rather long, and you wondered if you would make it in time to your sisters. Using Sherlock for balance, you stood on your toes to peer at the line. The detective glanced at your hand gripping his elbow, and rolled his eyes in good humour. In doing so, he saw a new machine opening on the other side of the store. Grabbing your hand, he rushed the two of you to it.   
You blushed momentarily at the consulting detective’s actions, but it died down rather quickly as you weaved your way through the clothing displays. Sherlock got you both there first just as another pair of shoppers entered the line. Not even out of breath, he calmly placed the box on the counter and waited to be rung up.   
The woman who was checking you out gave Sherlock an appreciative once over, ignoring your still interlocked hands. She asked, “How will you be paying?” Sherlock answered, “Two ways, please.” Nodding she split the bill. You pulled his majesty’s Visa from your pocket with your free hand and entered 0-1-0-6 for the pin. The detective followed suit, pulling his wallet from the trench coat that you were still wearing.   
A few moments later, the two of you stood on the pavement in front of Peppermint’s. Sherlock held the package under his arm and let you hail the cab with your free hand. It took longer than it would if he had done it, but neither of you seemed to want to drop the others hand. You opened the door and slid into the seat, while Sherlock told the cabbie John and Mary’s address. 

 

Sherlock’s P.O.V   
Sherlock looked over at the little girl sitting beside him. Y/n was looking at London in awe, her eyes wide. She was still wearing his coat, the long black sleeve covering their still entwined hands. Her small hand was cool to the touch, easing his burning skin. The detective felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He felt content and proud that she was holding his hand and wearing his coat.   
He noticed her braid was coming out, using his free hand Sherlock pulled it lose. Y/n turned around, a question in her bright e/c eyes. Not ceasing his movements, the detective finished the task by smoothing her hair down.   
"I like it down. You should wear it this more often." Sherlock said like he was stating a fact, not expressing an opinion. Y/n, now bright red, simply nodded. She pulled her hand away to touch the place he tucked her hair behind her ears. He pouted at the loss. This time she saw his downcast face, and laughed.   
"Does The Great Consulting Detective need to hold someone's hand to ride in a cab?" She teased him.   
Sherlock recovered quickly and replied smoothly, "No, Y/n. It's just easier to keep track of and protect you, when I know where you are. It's simply easier to do that when I'm holding your hand." Her face fell, she clearly was hoping for a different answer.   
'Of course, Sherlock. That's the only reason you would hold her hand. Protecting her makes Mary happy, and Mary being happy makes John happy. John's happiness comes first.' the detective told himself. Though he couldn't help but feel sad when her hand fell into her lap and did not return to his grasp.   
Sherlock gazed out his window, the view of London not calming his nerves. He wanted to apologize, to return her smile. The smile he had quickly grown to adore.   
Annoyed at himself for these thoughts, he didn't notice the weight of his coat being placed in his lap. Nor did he notice how Y/n silently braided her hair once more.   
He had slipped back into his mind palace. The detective lost himself in thought of his blogger. John's smile, the way John would get angry at him for leaving experiments in the fridge, John's terrible way of folding laundry, his blogger's scent of bar soap and almonds. The way Y/n looked with an apron on. The feeling of John in his arms when they practiced the waltz. Y/n smiling as she praised him. John pushing Sherlock into the bathroom to take a shower after a week long case. Y/n confidently saving his arse with nothing but her amazing wit.   
Sherlock was so lost in his mind palace, he didn't feel the cab stop. She had to shake him out of it. Blinking, the detective saw that this wasn't John's street. The road they were on was blocked off. Looking over to Y/n, he saw her hair was up and his coat was no longer on her. She looked like she was freezing. Shaking his head, the detective asked the cabbie, "What's wrong?"   
"Construction from here to the bridge, you're going to have to walk." he said.   
Sherlock looked over at Y/n and felt a pang in his chest. Her eyes were cold when she looked at him, hurt. The detective pushed his door open loudly and pulled the box out. She slid out after him. He held his hand out, thinking she would accept. Instead she plowed her way past him and through the London traffic. Cursing he tried to follow, but he soon lost her in the crowd.   
Frantically searching, Sherlock called her name, "Y/n!" He soon saw her being pushed into a black paneled van, his name falling from her lips.


End file.
